


Extracting Apples

by suikalopolis



Series: that hetashock au verse which seriously needs a name [2]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Bioshock infinite - Freeform, Gen, M/M, Oneshot, also vague mentions of Belgium, and then theres my bb honda the majestic unicorn, fruk with the luteces dynamics are uggghhhhh, heads up for ned and eng's potty mouth, in which netherlands is just too cool, minor religious references, that hetashock universe which clearly needs to be named, word of caution for implied voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-14
Updated: 2014-11-14
Packaged: 2018-02-25 08:21:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2614925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suikalopolis/pseuds/suikalopolis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Apple, Abel learns to his great disbelief, turns out to not be a fruit but rather a goddamn kid.  A young Oriental boy.  Well, damn.  This makes things a little bit interesting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Extracting Apples

**Author's Note:**

> “Things are not always how they seem, let alone turn out how we think.” 
> 
> Or, a.k.a, the one where Abel first meets those two shits and the exceptionally confounding “Honda”. 
> 
> A follow up to 'Stupid Decision, Stupid Mistake' because let's face it. I love Luteces!FRUK and Nedpan so naturally this would come around. You needn't read SDSM first as this fic actually occurs before it though side by side would probably be cool. I had fun throwing things around to write this. As the tags suggest, there will be implied voyeurism but it's not openly described. Abel (Netherlands) simply notices it when he tramples through the dragon's den.

The first time Abel sets foot on Eden, he must admit that even he is blown away by the astonishing view of unrivaled blues and greens.  Setting aside the fact that he is still a little shaken from being hurled up into the skies and cheating death, he finds himself wandering around the streets with a mind that's in a dreamlike haze.  It is bright and peaceful and so fucking happy up here that he cannot help but feel almost a little unclean, walking purposelessly down the streets in his dark-coloured clothes and old worn scarf.  He is quick to notice the curious looks he attracts with his height and unrefined appearance and while it should not bother him, he cannot shake off the feeling that there is something really weird about this place.  Something not right. So he quickens his pace to two steps at a time, striding through people who parted easily like river waters against a boulder.

After a while and seeing how wandering around aimlessly was not going to get him anywhere, Abel takes a break by the fountain near Market Street and situates himself on a quiet secluded bench by the flowers.  Almost instantly, his nose twitches at the sweet smell and a faraway memory blooms in his mind.  He sees red ribbons and honey-gold hair and the sound of bells and quickly, he pushes the image aside because he does not need a distraction right now.  He does not need _that_ distraction right now because the past was done and dead for good after all.  He needs to focus on his job – _this_ _stupid, obscenely expensive_ _job_ \- so he takes out the piece of paper he keeps safely stowed in the pocket of his waistcoat and glances down at the neat cursive writing scrawled across it.

_Extract The Apple and bring to the lighthouse._

Abel frowns.

A fruit.

A fruit is what they want.

What the hell was wrong with the apples down below? 

Were apples in Eden _that_ good?

Abel clicks his tongue, “Unreasonable bastards.”

“Or is it truly an apple?”

Abel almost jumps when he hears a voice – a rich, smooth baritone – interrupt his thoughts.  He looks up, his hand quickly stashing the piece of paper back into his pocket, and sees two smartly-dressed gentlemen standing exactly three feet away from him.  They are both watching him.  One in amusement.  The other in scorn.

_What the hell?_

“Can I help you?” Abel forces himself to ask out of politeness when an awkward pause wedges in between him and the gentlemen.  He is aware, however, that he is unable to keep the unfriendliness out of his voice.  It makes him feel strangely self-conscious now that he thinks about it and for a moment he is torn with whether or not he should stand up and sit elsewhere or just remain where he is.

The nearest man, tall in height with blond hair that falls in waves, smiles. “I think you are asking the wrong question, my good sir,” he says with the same smooth baritone and Abel scowls at the set of rather obscure words.

“I don’t think I follow.”

“Of course you don’t,” huffs the second man quite rudely.  Abel notices that his looks are a little less refined in comparison to his companion in spite of being equally smartly dressed.  He is blessed with a mop of unruly hair which sits on top of his head and a pair of rather characteristic eyebrows. “I suppose it can’t be helped. Things are not always how they seem, let alone turn out how we think.”

“Have we met?” Abel sets out to ask instead seeing how he is not likely to get an answer for his earlier question.  He is not quite sure as to why he is allowing himself to fall into conversation with these strangers.  He knows he is not an amiable creature by nature and yet here he is sitting awkwardly on a park bench, basking in Eden’s warm sunshine as he exchanges a few words with these two peculiar men.  He thinks he partially blames it on the aftershocks of being flung into the skies, even though he is not physically shaking anymore.

“Not entirely no,” answers the first man, still smiling.

“Not supposed to at this moment, no,” the second man corrects him and Abel could have sworn that the weight of his eyebrows makes his scowl seem so much deeper.

Abel purses his lips into a firm line.  “Right, okay. Look, I’m sorry for taking your spot,” he says the moment he concludes that these two men were not likely to leave him alone anytime soon.  Or hold a normal conversation for that matter.  So he stands, rising to his full height and he cannot help but feel inwardly pleased that he towers over both of them.  “I’ll take my leave,” he announces and just as he is about to turn, the first man suddenly pipes up with a rather unexpected response.

“The Apple is located in The Tree.”

Abel stops in mid-step and his heart almost stutters to a stop at the mention of such sensitive words.  Bewildered, he glances over his shoulder and stares at them. “Excuse me?”

“The Apple,” repeats the second man nonchalantly and he gestures towards a street sign which Abel had failed to spot earlier on.  It stated ‘The Tree’ in neat cursive writing.  “You can find _them_ there.”  He says this matter-of-factly and did not seem at all bothered to elaborate further when Abel throws him a questioning look.  Instead, he simply finishes in a flat tone, “You’d be bloody lucky if you could even get close, I tell you.”

“Very lucky indeed,” agrees the first man, nodding.

“Who sent you?” Abel asks in a quiet demanding tone and he turns his body halfway towards them.  His hand moves to his hip and he rests it there, poised and ready to quick-draw his pistol out from its holster when he needs it.  The gentlemen notice this apparently, judging by their exchange of glances.  Abel feels surprised however when neither of them look the slightest perturbed by it.  If anything, they look rather amused. 

“Are you following me?” Abel growls.

The first man beams, “No, not entirely no.”

The second man snorts, “Not supposed to at this moment, no.”

“Then why–”

“Oh, don’t forget this, Mister Offermans. You’ll need it when the time calls for its utilisation.”

Something soft – _a package?_ – is unceremoniously shoved against his chest and Abel grasps it.  He looks down and sees that it is indeed a half-wrapped package and inside lies a compact knapsack of sorts.  There is a small note of instruction attached to it with his name neatly written upon it.

_What on earth?_

“Hey, how do you know my–”

“Until next time, Mister Offermans.”

“Don’t fuck this up.”

And then, just as they did not have the courtesy of announcing themselves when they first appeared, the two gentlemen turn on their heels and walk away from Abel.  The last thing Abel hears from them is the idle chatter of which flavour of ice-cream was the best in a parlour just round the street corner and he thinks, _god fucking damn it just the hell have I gotten myself into?_

*

The Apple, Abel learns to his great disbelief, turns out to not be a fucking fruit but rather a goddamn kid.

A young _Oriental_ boy.

Well damn.  This makes things a little bit interesting.

Truthfully speaking, this will actually be the first time Abel finds himself face to face with a ‘gook’ and he is not entirely sure of how he is supposed to feel about unearthing this earth-shattering secret.  Why, who would have thought that the Edens were thoughtlessly worshiping the very race they were working so hard to exclude?

At that moment, Abel cannot help but think just how ridiculously lucky he must be.  It was one thing being pitched high up into the skies in a ridiculous flying machine and coming out of that ordeal unscathed, but to be able to slip in to the The Tree without stringing up too much trouble – _fleetingly, he thinks back to the surveillance rooms he had passed by, thinks of the endless records of unethical_ experiments _and the voyeuristic picture recording and the many necks he broke on the way up_ – and then coming face to face with this kid who is apparently ‘The Apple’ without getting his eyes burned and his limbs falling off?  Damn crazy. 

Abel takes a step into the last room (more like an inbuilt house actually) at the top of the building, his eyes trained on the boy who looks dazed and confused at the sight of him as he crouches beside a mountain of books. "Hey," he calls out, attempting casualness.

The kid seems to recover from his initial shock and with a start, he springs to his feet and is already backing away with one of his hands blindly reaching for something behind him.  Abel quickly raises his hands in what he hopes is a sign of peace. “Hey, alright, look,” he starts off in a slow, loud voice and he is pleased to see that he still has the kid’s attention when he pauses in mid-step.  “I didn’t come for any trouble, okay? I’m here to get you out.  You understand?  I’m getting you out.”

“Dutch.”

The word was uttered quietly and yet it rings loud in the air, permeating through the charged silence and into his bones.  Abel’s brows crinkle in disbelief at this.  He is taken aback by the sudden utterance – it’s _that_ word of all words? –  and he directs his gaze onto the kid and jeez, the little gook looks like a deer caught in a hunter’s line of sight.  He looks like he is starting to regret opening his mouth because hell, nobody has ever called him Dutch.  Nobody knows about his heritage nor do they give two shits so how the hell did –

The kid starts to back away again.

“What was that you said?” Abel asks gruffly and the tautness in his voice makes the kid halt in mid-step again.  Encouraged, Abel takes a step closer and watches the kid's small body try its best to not abscond from the vicinity.  “And why?”

There is a heavy silence between them and it drags painfully as neither of them look away from one another.  Just as Abel is about to give up, thinking that it was just a fluke, that the kid was just another little dumb foreign hoarder, the little gook opens his mouth.

“Because it’s what you are,” he finally answers, slowly and carefully, and he’s watching Abel with a surprisingly steady gaze through those abnormal slanted eyes of his.  Abel thinks that it feels like being watched by a cat, by a gaze that was both curious and wary.

“How?” Abel questions testily, his brow crinkling a little, because he really cannot seem to get his head around just how this kid throws fucking accurate things into the air like paper planes even though they have never met.

“I just…” The kid swallows and he starts to look noticeably flustered from the unyielding gaze Abel has fastened on him. “I just know.”

“You just know?” Abel scoffs disbelievingly.

“Um. I – well – in a way, yes.  I say as it is and I gather that it does not sound at all convincing but…” the kid trails off, struggling to wrack his brain for a plausible reasoning (Abel damn well hopes he is).  “I’m – it’s sort of like a computer.  Somehow, it’s almost as if I have the ability to access a system or…or an electronic database through somewhere here–” He’s pointing to his head. “–and it’s somewhat a natural feeling in my case. That I just know somehow.  Perhaps.”

Abel’s face twists in incomprehension.  _Electronic data base?  Com-pyu-ter?_   _What the hell is he saying?_

“You a spy?” he asks.

The kid blinks in surprise.  He shakes his head slowly and now he is the one looking at Abel as if _he_ is the crazy one.

Abel runs his fingers through his hair, sighing through his nose. “You’re a nutcase,” he says finally in a delirious tone.

“I’m sorry,” the kid unexpectedly replies and he is leaning forward, his head bent like he is praying.  A bow?  Abel tries not to flinch at the odd movement, even if he feels a shudder run down the length of his back.  “I am aware of my lack in social skills. You are after all the first unrelated person I’ve come in contact with.”

“Right. Yeah, no shit,” mutters Abel. “So...” 

He gestures to the air between them, well aware of the growing awkwardness.  Abel tries to find something, wracks his brain for some way to convince the kid to follow him without setting him off and receiving divine punishment for his crassness.  Because after seeing all those confidential files and records, who knows what crazy shit could happen.

The kid tilts his head inquiringly.

Abel looks at those slanted eyes, at the uncannily angular face, the inky black hair.  An old memory surfaces then, of bright eyes, red ribbons and a tinkling laugh.  Abel’s mouth hardens and he pushes the image to the back of his mind. 

No distractions.  Not here, not now.

“Appl-”

“Honda.”

Abel blinks. “Excuse me?”

The kid raises his brow slightly.  He straightens his back to appear taller – _he’s so damn short. Aren’t they feeding him?_ – like he is mustering up his confidence to match his own. “Honda,” he repeats with a certain firmness. “That is my second name. Please refer to me like this.”

“Second? What, you got a first?”

Honda makes an affirmative noise and nods. “Yes. But at this stage of acquaintance, it isn't relevant. It’s how my people are I understand.  Only in the near future, perhaps.  So using Honda is good for now."

_Why the hell is he talking like that?  It’s English but not an English that’s around here for sure. God this is tiring. I need a fucking smoke.  Maybe a shot of whiskey too to celebrate._

Abel sighs and he tugs on the hem of his scarf, adjusting it.  “Right. Okay. Hon-da.”  The name takes on an embarrassingly warbled sound as it rolls off his tongue that even Honda is unable to hold back a small wince.  He ploughs on. “You–”

A high-pitched squealing sound suddenly pierces the air, startling them both and all at once, reality crashes upon them.  Shit.  He’s taken too damn long.  Hastily, Abel reaches out and grabs the boy’s hand.  It’s warm and smooth and so much more thinner than his tough clammy one. “Come on,” he commands gruffly, tugging. “We need to leave. Now.”

Honda’s eyes widen in alarm. “Impossible! You – there isn’t – The Tree is too tall.  Even trajectory from this point downwards is not–”

An explosion resonates from three floors down.  It shakes the building and the siren continues to wail, increasingly louder and louder by the minute.  Abel thinks he can hear the sound of rapid stomping footsteps and he curses. With a wry quirk of his mouth, he grunts, “Not around me.” 

Honda shakes his head. “No, you don’t understand! I can’t leave. They’ve told me I’m not meant to.”

They’ve? 

Abel recalls the records, the graphs, the rolls of films, the nude photographs.  The scientists.  He tugs Honda with force. “Of course you can. That’s why I’m here.”

“No. I mustn’t. This–” Honda’s gesturing wildly with his free hand at the air between them. “–upsets the balance.”

“There’s nothing between us.”

“That’s not –" Honda flusters, his cheeks flushing with colour. "I hadn’t – it’s _just_ –!”

“We’re leaving.”

“ _Listen_ –!”

He feels it first rather than sees it.  The note of desperation.  He senses the wariness from the way Honda’s discreetly trying to slip out of his hold _– he’s hesitating no no he’s afraid –_ and Abel tightens his grip around Honda’s hand.  He casts him what he hopes is a reassuring look as their gazes connect amidst the pandemonium.

“Trust me. I’ll get you out," he tells him. "You’re not upsetting anything by leaving.  You don’t belong here.  You’re human.  You’re going to be free.”

Something flickers in Honda’s eyes.  Uncertainty.  Wistfulness.  He lowers his head in resignation and Abel squeezes his hand.

“Please.”

_Please?_

Abel feels Honda’s hand tighten around his and the next thing he knows, it is him who is being dragged to the other side of the room, towards a particular stained glass window. 

"Hey. What're-"

_Pull and you will fly._

That was what the single instruction which came with the knapsack said, Abel suddenly recalls.  When Honda stops by the window and glances over at Abel, his gaze flickers to the knapsack he wears upon his back almost knowingly.  

_Pull and you will fly._

It all clicks into place.

Abel lets out a resigned sigh and wonders just what the hell has he done to do deserve this shit.  _Tons and you clearly deserve it,_ he thinks darkly just as Honda looks at him warily.  It’s a little freaky, Abel then realises.  It’s almost as if Honda  knows what’s going on in his head…

He shakes the thought aside.

“Tsk. To hell with it.”

He’s already done a bunch of crazy things today so what’s one more on the list? 

He reaches for a small chair tucked under a nearby wooden desk with his free hand and hurls it at the window with all his might.

It shatters.  A million pieces of glass fall like colourful rain before the greens and blues of Eden below.  Honda automatically shies away from the brightness which streams into the room but the moment he peers at the greenery and the infinite skies, his face lifts with such child-like wonder that Abel can actually _see_ the colours reflect in that unexpectedly beautiful brownness of his slanted eyes.

“Hold on to me,” Abel says, voice strained.

Honda looks at him, wide-eyed. “Eh?”

“Hold on tight.”

Without further ado, Abel forces Honda to dash forward with him and out they boldly leap into nonentity with the glare of the sunlight beating down upon them and the wind thrashing through their hair.  Abel feels the world spin, his vision starting to tunnel as blues and greens swirl around him.  God fucking damn it.  This is bullshit.  The shittiest idea he has ever–!

“ _Pull!_ ”

It is Honda who shouts this, the shrillness of his panicky voice manages to slice through the air to sweep past his ears.  Abel feels the kid latch around his middle, holding on to him tightly in desperation and it causes him to spur into action. 

_Pull and you will fly._

Holding Honda close, Abel blindly reaches with his other hand behind him and after the few times the cord flaps past his fingers, he finds it and tugs it hard.  Something bursts out from the knapsack - _A boat’s sail? A balloon?_ – and the air sweeps up from beneath them, yanking the straps of the knapsack painfully against Abel's armpits, as air rushes up into the cloth, spreading it open above them like a giant parasol.  Honda gasps at the sight and Abel even admits that even he is stunned because like magic, they are not falling downwards at deathly speed anymore.  They are now _floating_.  Like birds bracing for a clear landing, they have left The Tree soaring.

_Pull and you will fly._

“In this time, parachutes…of course,” he hears Honda murmur.

Exhaling shakily, Abel peers down at the kid and looks at his disheveled hair, at the way his tongue snakes out to lick his bottom lip, at the vibrancy of life which burns so bright in his dark eyes as the sunlight casts shadows across the angles of his face.

“I got you out,” he blurts out, caught up in the moment.

Honda’s gaze slides over to meet his.

For a moment, they stare at one another and Abel can feel the way his heart was still racing from the adrenalin rush.  He can feel the way Honda’s body is pressed awkwardly against his as he clings on for dear life and vaguely, he can almost feel the stirrings of something _not right_ in his chest as they drift through the air.

“Yes. Yes, you did.”

Honda’s voice is rich and soft, like melted chocolate that is being tempered across a slab of marble.  The wind flutters through his inky black hair.  Unthinkingly, Abel tightens his hold around the kid.

“Abel,” he tells him little breathlessly. “Abel Offermans.”

He does not receive a hearty handshake (how the hell could that happen anyway) or an amiable hum of acknowledgement.  What he does receive instead is the most sincere smile Abel has ever seen in a lifetime and it is magnificent and bright like the final stars that linger in the coming of dawn.

"Thank you, Mister Offermans."

Abel clears his throat and forces his eyes to look elsewhere. "Don't sweat it, kid."

**Author's Note:**

> Ok. Just a few notes.
> 
> (1) Ages! We all like to know ages, don't we? Abel would be creeping up into his early thirties (maybe 31-32) while Kiku would be 19 (what a baby). As for fruk...we'll probably never find out since they're like magical rainbow eating shits. But I guess maaaybe you could put them somewhere between 27-34. Or maybe they're 122, who knows.
> 
> (2) I won't go into too much of the specs but the main idea I was going for here is yes Abel is walking through an actual man-made Garden of Eden and that 'The Tree' basically symbolises the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil in the story of Adam and Eve. So Kiku here is 'The Apple', the fruit of knowledge. Where Bioshock Elizabeth has the ability to manipulate the space-time continuum, Kiku on the other hand has infinite knowledge. He's like a walking encyclopedia who pretty much knows anything and everything across time and space without realising it (hence him often using certain words that haven't existed yet like 'computer' since the timeline is roughly in the 1910s). Think of Assassin's Creed concept of the Apple of Eden. Possess that and you get infinite knowledge/power/influence. So like Elizabeth, Kiku's been all locked up and experimented on by the Edens so they can unlock and utilise his ability for "greater things". With Abel blasting in and snatching up that boy, it just screws their plans and they want him back.
> 
> (3) About the voyeuristic picture recording. Seeing that they are racist pricks in Eden what with the ideology of exceptionalism going on, it isn't surprising that by having someone so exotic-looking under their surveillance for so long it would obviously make some creeps pop some boners. 
> 
> (4) Kiku's english. Yes, it's weird. It was meant to have a slight Japanese flair to it. I don't know if it translated well as I based it off how I personally experience it when I juggle between English and Japanese. Strictly speaking, Kiku would be an Eden in terms of accent-wise (he'd have a North American one) but for some reason, he has an unspoken fondness for Japan (like Elizabeth with Paris) and associates himself to being Japanese ("It's how my people are I understand").


End file.
